


The Playground

by ddagent



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Episode Tag, F/F, F/M, Missing Scene, Multi, OT3, Office Sex, Romance, Roommates, Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots, mini-fics and prompts focusing on Phil Coulson, Melinda May and occasionally Rosalind Price. Stories include everything from AUs to episode tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Date Night [Phil/Melinda/Rosalind]

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.
> 
> Anonymous prompted: "Can I prompt OCTOBER + date night? Fluff or smut, or both... you choose!"

He couldn’t remember what excuse he had made to leave the Playground early. But as soon as he could, Phil had grabbed his belongings, threw them in the passenger seat of Lola, and headed out to the city. As the first one back home, Phil had begun preparations for their evening. Every other Thursday was _date night,_ and Phil had spent the last week planning everything perfectly.

The menu: three courses, with a roast lamb he had been day-dreaming about seasoning all day. Three glasses of wine poured and resting on their coffee table (a vintage they had all picked out together). Shower, shave, and one of his favourite suits. Phil was ready quickly. No rush, no fuss. All he needed now were his companions for the evening. 

Phil checked his watch a little after seven. Rosalind always came home first, pulling off her jacket before being pulled into a kiss. But as the minutes ticked by, and still no Rosalind, Phil reached for his phone. Just to check. _No missed calls. M_ aybe she had gone to pick up dessert or another bottle of wine for date night. Maybe Melinda would be home first. 

As a CIA field agent, Melinda’s hours were never exact. But when she was home, she usually rolled in closer to eight. She would lock down the house, double checking the alarms before joining them in the dining room for dinner. Phil listened out for the sound of her motorcycle, or Rosalind’s town car. _Nothing._

His thumb played with the touch screen of his phone, wanting desperately to call either one of them. But if they were caught up at work, he didn’t want to intrude. He couldn’t exactly call up Langley and the ATCU to check if there was something wrong. As far as their respective agencies were concerned, their relationship was nothing more than professional. Occasionally adversarial. Certainly not romantic. 

A little after ten, with his lamb ruined and two of the glasses of wine drunk, the front door opened. Phil heard the clack of Rosalind’s heels against the floor; the soft thunk of her coat hanging up in the hall. She came around the partition, mouth fixed in a sheepish smile. 

“Did I ruin dinner?”

Phil sighed, shaking his head. “They’ll be other dinners. How was your day?” 

Rosalind groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She padded across the wooden floor before settling beside Phil on the couch. “I had an unexpected meeting with the President today, wanting an update on my progress. Sorry I couldn’t call. I couldn’t exactly tell him I had to cut the meeting short because my boyfriend was waiting at home for me.” 

He smirked. “I don’t see what the big problem is. You should have just told the President that you’re dating the Director of SHIELD. I’m sure he would have been fine with it.” 

She chuckled, body resting against the sofa. Phil leant back himself, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of dark hair away from her face. Rosalind’s fingertips brushed the curve of his jaw, his bottom lip. The troubles of her day seemed to fade away as she stared up at him. 

“I love this,” she whispered, reaching up to press her lips lightly against his. “Coming home to you. Coming home to both of you.” Phil froze. He watched the uneasiness slip back into Rosalind’s features. “Melinda not home yet?” 

Phil shook his head. “She’s running late.” 

“Melinda doesn’t _run_ late,” Rosalind pulled away and reached for the bag she had dropped to the floor. She searched for her cell phone, scowling when she saw no unread messages or unheard voice mails. “Do you think-” 

“Don’t go there.” 

It was always tempting to go to that place - that dark _what if_ place - when one of them didn’t call in or show up somewhere. All three of them had been spies for many years. They knew what the job entailed. The only difference now was that Phil and Rosalind were in charge of their respective agencies. It was only Melinda out in the field. But she was the strongest of all of them. She always made it home. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Rosalind flinched. “It’s nothing.” But even Phil knew those words sounded hollow.

He patted Rosalind’s knee awkwardly as he stood up to answer the door. Phil tried to tell himself that if something had happened, no one would call them. No one knew about them. He’d read it in a report; Rosalind would hear it from an old friend two days later. No one would tell them that the woman they loved was gone. So it couldn’t be that. Probably girl scouts. 

Swallowing his fears, Phil opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hi. Someone order a large pizza with extra sausage?” 

Phil found himself trying hard not to laugh. But it was hard when the woman he loved was standing there in a baseball cap holding a pizza box from down the street. “I’m sure this is the beginning of a porno.”

“It is.” Melinda May said with a smirk, brushing past Phil with the steaming pizza in hand. “But unlike a bad porno, we get to eat the pizza.”

Phil closed the door before following Melinda into the living room. She’d left the pizza on the coffee table, the lid already flipped open. Rosalind sat, legs curled up underneath her, teeth already sinking into a slice. Melinda was pouring herself a glass of wine before grabbing some pizza. Phil wanted to run to the kitchen and get plates, or at least some napkins. He settled for sitting cross legged beside the pizza box. 

“This isn’t quite the date night I planned,” Phil admitted as he reached for his first slice. “But I’m glad you’re both home safe.” 

Both women smiled. Melinda seemed unaware of the worry that had fallen over the house, instead reaching across for her wine glass. As Phil’s gaze shifted to Rosalind, they shared a knowing look. One day they would have to tell Melinda their fears. But not tonight. 

As they finished the pizza, Rosalind went back to the kitchen for another bottle of wine. “I think I can afford to go in a little late tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Melinda said, tipping her glass in her direction. “I don’t have to go in at all tomorrow.” 

Phil’s brow furrowed as he looked across the coffee table at Melinda. “What do you mean?”

Melinda shrugged. “I took a couple of days off. I’m between ops. I-” She busied her lips with the rim of her wine glass. “I just wanted to spend a couple of days at home.”

Phil couldn’t remember the last time that Melinda had taken _any_ time off. He knew she wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted to be with them. Leaving his wine glass on the coffee table, he reached over to kiss her. Lips slid against his, his fingertips cupping her cheek. She tasted like red wine. As Phil pulled away, Melinda had her eyes closed. She opened them just in time to see Rosalind kneel down beside them and replace his mouth with hers. Melinda’s shoulders dropped as she threw herself into the kiss, hands caressing Rosalind’s face.

“I’m going to go run us all a bath,” Phil declared, dropping a kiss atop Rosalind’s head. They’d both had long days. They could _all_ use a hot soak in the tub. 

Sure, date night hadn’t been how he’d planned it. But it looked like the weekend would be _perfect._


	2. Return Visit [Coulsalind]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosalind's second visit to the Playground goes *way* better than the first. NSFW.

Rosalind’s second visit to SHIELD’s secret base went so much better than the first. For starters, the Director didn’t accuse her of being a Nazi sympathiser and manipulating him into bed. Secondly, it included her sitting on one of Coulson’s chairs with her skirt bunched around her hips and Coulson’s mouth between her legs. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, teasing the short strands and scratching at his scalp with her fingertips. _He liked that. She_ liked the slight catch of his teeth on her clit. Not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. Rosalind stroked Phil’s neck, sighing contentedly as he continued to lick and suck at her pussy. The pressure was slowly building within her; Phil not in a hurry to get her off. If he took any longer down there, she’d swear he liked the taste. 

“God, _Phil…”_

He spread her legs wider, pushing her right knee higher so he could bury his face further between her legs. Her fingernails bit into the fabric of his shirt, Phil gasping against her skin. His tongue was circling the tip of her clit, knowing full well how close she was to the edge. She could feel it now; the tell-tale signs of her orgasm approaching. Just a little more..

_Bleep Bleep_

Her eyes snapped open, just in time to watch Phil jerk away and reach for his phone. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Sadly no.” Phil scrolled through his phone. “Dammit, I forgot I had that conference call with Agent Koenig.”

Rosalind stared, fingers sinking into the arm rests of the chair. She was trying to remain calm. Not easy when the pressure of her orgasm was fading.  “So you’re just going to leave me…not even going to finish what you started?”

The back of Phil’s neck was a dark red as he left the phone and returned to the chair. His hands slid over her, his face leaning in. “This was not exactly what I had planned either.”

“What had you got planned?”

“Well, first, I was gonna make you come.” Phil’s lips pulled into a smile. “Then, I was gonna ask your help in defiling my office. I was thinking on my desk…maybe against the door. I didn’t think I had another meeting until tomorrow morning.” 

Phil Coulson was a charming man. His smile, his demeanour. Of course he had a filthy mind to go along with that. Rosalind could easily be charmed into waiting for him to return and then picking up where they left off. But Phil wasn’t _that_ charming. 

“You know, as the head of an agency, it is important to multi-task. But it’s also important to finish what you start. And, as the head of the agency, you can be a little late.” Rosalind pressed her hand against Phil’s neck before leaning in close to his mouth. “ _So be a little late._ ”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rosalind wasn’t sure whether it was the _ma’am_ or tasting herself on Phil’s lips that made her shudder and keen, but soon enough her body was building to climax once more. Phil was ruthless this time, his tongue alternating between teasing strokes and long laps of her pussy. By the time he took her clit between his lips and _sucked_ , Rosalind was half gone. 

“ _Thank you.”_ Rosalind smiled as she came down from her orgasm. She took a moment to readjust her skirt. “I guess I’ll see you after your conference call?” 

Phil stopped. Then, he reached for his phone and sent a single message. Suddenly he was on her again, lips pressing against the length of her neck. “I’m the Director. I can _cancel.”_


	3. Teen Wolf [Philinda]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil thinks his best friend has pulled away because of the kiss they shared in the woods. Melinda is actually a werewolf. (Thank you to vampire!anon for inspiring this!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N.B. This isn’t a crossover with the MTV show or the MJF movie. I just borrowed the name.

The track was quiet this time of day. 

School had let out about an hour ago, and most of the student body had already left. The few extra curricular activities going on were inside: she could hear the band practice from all the way out on the field; the basketball team were running drills. No one was out on the track. No one but her. 

She was on her fourth lap. Dark hair tied loosely behind her, ponytail bobbing in the wind. Her trainers were worn; the rubber soles not quite up to the task of her relentless assault on the track. She wore her gym kit, the eagle mascot of Providence High School faded on the front. Melinda pushed herself to move, felt her body respond in kind. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred...

After crossing the finish line, Melinda pulled her body in for a pit stop. She caught her breath, then checked the timer on her watch.  _New record._ Faster than she’d ever run before, faster than  _anyone_  on the track team had run before. Grinning, Melinda walked over to the bleachers for a moments rest and her water bottle. She was in amazing shape for the meet on Saturday. 

Wiping her arm across her forehead, Melinda leant back against the bleachers. She could hear her heartbeat like a bass line; her own breathing like it was in surround sound. She could hear the kids from the band pack away their instruments and head out to their waiting cars. She heard the conversations they had, the slight tear of foil of a Hershey bar wrapper. 

Melinda was still getting used to the change in her. Her new... _talents_. As useful as they were, they came with one hell of a price. 

Taking another gulp of water, Melinda decided to run a few more laps. She was hoping to tire herself out before tonight. Before she could return to the track, however, she heard the door to the gymnasium open.  _Basketball team._ Usually Melinda wouldn’t have given them a second thought, except one of them decided to head in her direction. 

 _Phil._ She’d recognise his smell anywhere. 

Phil Coulson was her oldest friend; her closest friend. He was captain of the basketball team, a straight A student, and a bit of a nerd. They’d been neighbours and best friends since the age of five. Cute and charming, he caught many a girls eye. But Melinda tried not to look at him. She could smell him, though. Sweat, fresh oil, a hint of the aftershave he’d started wearing recently. Melinda finally looked up, finding herself starting at one of Phil’s warmest smiles. 

“Hey, you.” The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Been a while.”

“Yeah.” Melinda busied herself with her gym bag, deciding to suddenly abandon her plans for a second run. “Been training.”

Phil nodded. “So I see. You ready for Saturday?”

Melinda nodded, shoving her water bottle and towel in the bag. “Yes.”

Gym bag slung over her shoulder, Melinda tried to brush past Phil. She felt his hand connect with hers, force her body back in his direction. She felt his heartbeat pound through his skin, hear his chest heave with every breath. He was exhausted and nervous and she  _knew_ he wanted answers. 

She had none to give him. 

“What’s going on, Melinda? You don’t come over, you don’t take my calls.  _Hell,_ you switched classes on me!” Phil laced their fingers, holding onto her hand. It was the most they’d touched in two months. “I miss you, Melinda. I don’t know what I did, but-”

“-You didn’t doanything,  _okay_?” Melinda tugged her hand out of Phil’s grip. “It’s me. I’ve gotta go.”

Phil’s sigh sounded as loud as a car alarm. But Melinda didn’t look back as she made her way over to the parking lot. He was her oldest friend, the person she loved most in the entire world. Yet she had no answers, no explanation. None that he would believe, accept. Melinda just wanted to keep him  _safe._ If she hurt him, she’d never be able to live with herself. 

She walked across the empty parking lot, hands buried under her armpits. The cool spring breeze felt harsh on her bare arms, and Melinda was not looking forward to the ride home. Her motorcycle, as wonderful as it was, was no match for Lola. Phil’s red convertible had been filled with warm conversation, coffee runs, the occasional french fry fight. Her bike was cold, alone. Just like her. 

As she approached her bike, however, Melinda  _growled_. One of the idiot seniors had smashed into it, denting the front and damaging the already tenuous brake line. They’d propped it up, but the damage was done. 

“ _Shit.”_

Melinda checked her watch. She wouldn’t make it home before dark, not even if she ran the whole way.  _Shit._

 _“_ Need a ride?”

Phil gave her a weak smile as he stood in front of his car. She could try and make a run for it. But it was reckless of her to be outside when the full moon came up. Reluctantly, Melinda nodded. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

She opened up the passenger side door and slid inside, immediately strapping herself in. The leather felt alien against her skin, as did the smell of cheap coffee. Phil got in beside her, his hands immediately reaching for the controls. This was the closest they had been since that night. Ironic, really, that they were in the same damn car. 

They pulled away from the parking lot in silence. Melinda hit the switch for the radio, hoping some noise would drown out the sound of Phil’s racing heart or the smell of his skin. The crackle from Lola’s beat up radio, however, assaulted her ears. She slammed it off. 

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Phil swallowed. “Good. I’m fine too. Just peachy.”

They continued to drive, the small town they lived in zipping past in a flash. Providence was a really small town; home to one high school, a handful of family owned businesses, and an out of date theatre that played back and white movies every Sunday. The town was surrounded by a massive forest, and a lot of the high school kids went there to make out. 

The last time Melinda had been in this car, Phil had driven her to make out point. 

He turned off the main road, his hand reaching down for the gear box. “So, how’s your new science partner?” 

Melinda shrugged. “Fine.”

Suddenly the car screeched to a halt. Melinda jerked her head towards Phil. He looked like he was going to snap off the steering wheel. “ _Dammit,_ Melinda, what is going on? You cut me out of your life and I don’t know why! If I did something, I swear to God I’ll make it up to you. I just...I need to know.”

“I told you. It’s not you.”

“Melinda _, please_.”

“I’m going through some changes at the moment, okay?”

“Some changes, huh?” Phil didn’t seem appeased, but at least he started the car. “Okay.”

They made it back to their street just as the orange sun was falling behind the distant houses. Melinda pushed out of the car, racing up the driveway without another word to Phil. The drive was empty, her mother’s car in some airport parking garage somewhere. She would be alone tonight. Just how she needed it. Melinda checked her watch again. She had just enough time to get things ready. 

As she was about to close her front door, Phil stuck half his body through the closing gap. Melinda jerked it open, readying herself for a fight. Instead, the anger in him was gone. “If you can’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll try and accept that. I just need you to know that I’m always here for you.  _Always._ No matter what.”

“I know.”  _I wish I could tell you._  “I just need to deal with this by myself, okay?”

“Okay.” Phil bobbed his head. “Okay. I just-I hope it wasn’t our kiss. I hope it didn’t freak you out. Because-”

Melinda rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t the kiss.”

She could still feel his lips against hers. The look in his eyes, even in the darkness of the forest. Since last summer, something had begun to simmer between them. There had been a few moments, a few almost kisses, until one evening they’d decided to go for a drive. Making out with Phil had been one of the most enjoyable experiences of her life. 

But then they’d heard a noise, Melinda had gone out to investigate. Three claw marks later and she turned into a werewolf three days out of the month.

Hurting Phil - either emotionally or physically - was the  _last_ thing she wanted. But she had. By pulling away she had. She lifted her hand to his face, stroking his cheek. It was meant to reassure, to comfort. But she found her thumb brushing his bottom lip. “I loved kissing you.”

“ _Good._  Because I can’t stop thinking about it.  _About you_.”

Lust overwhelmed all of Melinda’s senses, and suddenly she was grabbing two fistfuls of Phil’s shirt and dragging him towards her. She kissed him hard, passionately, leaving no room for either of them to breath. She pressed her tongue against his lips, wanting,  _needing,_ to taste him. Rough hands, calloused from working on car engines, gripped her waist. They slid under her vest, against bare skin, and Melinda  _howled._

_“Phil...”_

He moaned, his lips sliding over hers. Phil kicked the front door closed before pushing her up against the nearest wall. Melinda could smell Phil’s arousal, his desire. She could see it in his eyes, taste it on his skin. Her tongue lapped at his throat, tasting sweat and lust. His fingers cradled her neck, lips falling away, as he held her close in a long overdue embrace. 

Her watch began to beep.  _Full moon._

Melinda slammed her hands into Phil as hard as she dared, pushing him into the other side of the foyer. His face betrayed his surprise, then his concern as Melinda suddenly headed for the basement. “What’s going on?”

“Get out.”

“Melinda!”

She slammed the basement door behind her, making sure to yank all three deadbolts shut. The heavy duty padlock went in place next, the keys placed somewhere her other self could not get at them. The door had held her during her last transformation. She hoped it would be able to hold her this time too.

Behind the deadbolts, she could still hear Phil. “Melinda,  _please,_ tell me what’s going on.”

“ _Go._ Please go.” He wasn’t moving. “Phil, GO!” She slammed her hand against the door, her voice failing her as her mind was suddenly overwhelmed with images of Phil’s broken body. “ _Run_.”

She heard his footsteps move away from the door. Sinking her head into her hands, Melinda prayed that she had kept him safe enough. But all thoughts of Phil quickly disappeared. She felt the crackle of her spine, an unattainable itch slide over her skin. Her joints popped, her skin stretched.  _It was coming._  

Melinda screamed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to request any sequels or remixes for any of the prompts/stories in this collection at ddagent.tumblr.com


	4. Aftershock [Philinda]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The base has stopped shaking. But the disaster goes on. Set post 3.17.

The first thing Phil Coulson was aware of was the considerable pain. 

He tried to suck in a breath, felt the agony rip through his chest. The last thing he remembered (drinks, _Melinda,_ tremors) was even more pain. The ground had shook, the sky had fallen, and then _black._ It hurt to blink, but Phil tried to open his eyes.  _The lab._ Someone had found him, moved him, brought him here. He forced his eyes open in an attempt to better see his surroundings. 

Dust fell from above. Although the ground had stopped shaking, the old World War II building could not survive such an attack unscathed. Phil watched as a chunk of ceiling fell; pulverising the lab equipment below. He was dimly aware of an alarm blaring in the distance. He looked across the lab, saw several of the beds occupied. A sheet was pulled over two of them. 

A light suddenly flashed in his eyes. _Simmons. “Sir. Sir can you hear me?”_

The figure of Jemma Simmons swam in front of his eyes until she finally came into focus. He strained to hear her voice. Phil swallowed, his hearing suddenly better. His mouth tasted like dust, like blood. “Simmons.”

She checked his vision again. “Sir, can you hear me?”

“I can-” Another swallow. “I can hear you. Everything-” Pain was exploding above his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Fear flooded through him. “I can’t feel my arm.”

He caught the slightest hint of a smile from Simmons. “You’ll be fine. Turns out, the only way to keep Agent May in a hospital bed is to have you there first. Who knew?”

Phil turned his head, biting back the pain at the sudden movement. Melinda lay beside him, her body resting atop his. She looked as pale as she had on the Zephyr, with a fresh gash across her head. Slowly, he slid his pinned arm out from underneath her. Teeth buried in his bottom lip, Phil moved so Melinda could lie flat against the bed. He lifted her shirt to make sure she hadn’t disturbed her stitches. His fingertips came back red. The dark fabric she wore was soaked through. 

“ _Simmons_ ,” he gasped, his voice rough like sandpaper. “ _Simmons.”_

He pointed at May when the young doctor returned. She laid a hand on his shoulder, easing him back against the bed. “She’s fine; I already changed her dressing. She tore half her stitches trying to get you until Mack found her.”

 _She was okay._ Phil heaved a sigh of relief. If he’d lost her...Settling back against the bed, his fingertips brushed Melinda’s temple. The gash seemed superficial; nothing time wouldn’t heal. _She’ll be okay._ He kept watching, looking for any change in her breathing, until Simmons returned with painkillers and two glasses of water. There was blood on her shirt. 

“How bad is it?”

“Two dead so far. They were in the hangar when...” She paused, biting back her words. _When Daisy brought the ceiling down._ “Mack’s taking control. Assessing the base; doing a head count. Lincoln’s talking to Elena and Joey about staying on. The tests haven’t come back but-”

“It was Daisy.” Phil shoved the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. “Just Daisy.” 

Simmons stared at him; anger and adrenalin holding back her tears. He’d seen that look once before. Different base. Dead SHIELD agents all the same. Phil tried to cling on to a single thought, that it wasn’t really her. That the thing wearing Ward’s body was pulling at her strings. But she had lied to them, manipulated them, used her powers to destroy the base. _She could have killed them all._  

“What happens now, sir?”

Phil wet his lips with the water Simmons offered. “I don’t know, Jemma. I’m sorry.”

She took the water from him, squeezing his hand as she returned to her duties. More and more injured agents dragged themselves through the door. Some had head injuries, some had electrical burns. Phil watched the parade until he heard a groan from beside him. He turned, holding his breath until her dark eyes opened and latched onto his. 

“You okay?”

Phil felt like laughing. Over the last seventy two hours, Melinda had fought a telekinetic Inhuman, been thrown through a glass window, and had got injured trying to rescue _him. “_ Yeah, I’m okay. _You?_ ”

She snorted in derision; her body clicking as she straightened her neck. Melinda tugged at the hem of her shirt, snarling at the state of her wounds. Phil passed her the painkillers Simmons had given them. They would numb the pain, but not knock her out. After glaring at the offending pills, Melinda slid them between her lips. She took one swallow of water before using the rest to clean the dust covering her hands and arms. 

“What’s the situation out there?”

“I don’t know.” Phil helped Melinda sit up, her shoulder braced against his. “Not good. Mack’s handling it for now.”

She nodded, wincing at the pain rattling in her skull. “Good. And Daisy?”

“Gone.” Phil touched his face, feeling the stickiness of dried blood. Daisy had done that. She’d done that to Melinda’s temple; killed the two men lying on the beds across from them. _It hadn’t been her, it hadn’t been her._ “We need to find a way to fix this.”

“We might not be able to.”

Phil swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. They knew so little about Hive, about what he was capable of. There might not be a cure. If it came to that, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to make that call. 

Lost in thought, Phil was offered a lifeline. Melinda’s hand slipped over his, pulling him back from the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. He looked at their clasped hands; at a touch more intimate than most would ever share. He stared into her eyes, comforted by the determination in them. _They would find a way._ She touched his face: the wound on his temple, the single tear making tracks in his dust covered skin. 

“Come here.”

Phil pulled Melinda to him, holding her as tight as he could stand. He cradled her head; fingers threading through her dark hair. The days to come would be hard; harder than anything they had dealt with before. But they stood together. Whatever happened, whatever decision they would have to make, they would make it together. 

They would patch themselves up. Patch their wounds; patch the roof. Then they were coming after Hive with everything they had. Phil just hoped it was enough. 


	5. Orientation [Melinda/Rosalind]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. Rosalind’s first day doesn’t go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For melindaqmay who wanted some Mel/Ros goodness. And thanks to the ladies on twitter, in particular devilinred who inspired some college fun. Enjoy!

Rosalind Price had been dreaming about this day ever since she was a little girl. She had sat on her father’s knee, listening to him talk wistfully about his alma mater - where he’d met her mother; where he’d become a  _man_ \- and Rosalind had decided, then, that she wanted to go too. Her father had encouraged her dream, buying her a hat and scarf in his school colours. Since deciding on her path, she’d worked her  _ass_ off to get there. Date nights were squandered in favour of extra AP classes. She’d spent her Saturdays volunteering at local causes for another line on her application. She’d graduated as valedictorian; her father sitting proudly in the stands. 

Now she was here. 

The town car pulled to a stop just outside the school; it’s decadent architecture looming through the tinted windows. It was just her and mother in the car. Her father had had to stay in D.C. No choice.  _Political emergency,_ he’d said.  _You understand, don’t you kiddo,_ he’d said. Rosalind was used to these emergencies. It had been a long time since she had sat on her father’s knee, staring at old photographs. 

“You will be all right, won’t you Rosalind?”

Her mother clasped her hand; neatly manicured nails digging into her skin. Rosalind could smell her mother’s perfume, overpowering the stench of vodka that clung to her clothes. She pasted on a simple smile, similar to the one her mother wore when entertaining her father’s friends.  _She’d learnt from the best._

“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

“I know.” She bowed her head. “You’re just like your father.”

Her mother left pink lipstick on her cheek as she kissed her daughter goodbye. The driver had already retrieved her luggage from the car, left it waiting on the kerb. Rosalind watched as the town car pulled away, her mother’s voice echoing in her head.  _You’re just like your father._ She’d been able to get away with murder from the age of six; knew just how to manipulate both her parents to get what she wanted. She’d worked  _damn_ _hard_ at school, negotiating every grade that she considered unfair. Her father’s political tactics were similar to the ones she’d used to win her position as Student Body President two years in a row. 

She was like her father. But she was going to be  _better._

\--

After checking in at the orientation desk, Rosalind followed the directions on her campus map to her dorm room. The wheels on her bag stumbled across the cobbled ground, but eventually she made it into Providence Hall. She walked past open door after open door; witnessing sobbing parents, scared freshmen unpacking soft toys, even a couple getting  _acquainted._ Rosalind passed them all, dragging her bag up six floors until she finally found room 616. Poking her head inside, Rosalind found nothing but an empty room. 

“Guess I’m the first one here.”

Leaving her bag against the door, Rosalind appraised her new home. It was smaller than her room back in D.C.  Two single beds; two desks; two built in wardrobes. She’d expected to be sharing with someone, although she hadn’t expected to share that  _closely._ The floor map pinned to the back of the door showed the way to the communal bathrooms. A map in her orientation pack informed her of the way to the dining hall.  _The great college experience._ Rosalind wasn’t sure what to make of it just yet. 

Unpacking was a necessary chore. Her neatly folded clothes had survived the journey from Washington D.C. to Massachusetts; her dresses and tailored jackets wrinkle free in their bags. Rosalind stacked the textbooks for her classes on the shelf above her desk, along with the biographies of Margaret Thatcher she’d brought too. A happy family portrait – prim, proper, pretend – stood on her desk along with her graduation photo. Across the hall, a boy wearing baggy pants hung up a poster of a marijuana leaf.  _Glad to see the old clichés were alive and well._

A pair of knuckles rapped firmly on the door frame. “Hey, is this room 616?”

“Yes, yes it is. You must be my roommate.”

Rosalind looked up from putting away the last of her belongings to get her first look at her new roommate. She’d expected a carbon copy of the type of girl she was used to dealing with.

Blonde, neat, intelligent but not manipulative. She favoured the buttoned down shirt; the well fitted sweater. Such women Rosalind could get what she needed from and no more. But as Rosalind got her first look at this girl, she realised this would be no easy feat. She was small, Asian, with dark hair hanging loose over a creased leather jacket. She had a single duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. And she looked straight through Rosalind.

_No, no, this would be no good at all._

“Hey. I’m Melinda. Melinda May.” She held out her hand, black nails standing stark against Rosalind’s skin. They shook once, twice. Then Melinda took herself off to the other bed. She threw her duffel bag onto the naked mattress and unzipped it. “You got a name?”

Her lips thinned. “Rosalind. Rosalind Price. I’m from D.C. How about yourself?”

“New York.” Melinda peeled off her leather jacket, revealing a pair of toned arms underneath. Rosalind wondered what she would have to do to get muscle definition like that. “First time living away from home?” 

“Summer camp, when I was a kid.” 

Melinda smirked, but said nothing. Rosalind watched her intently, following her every move around the small room. Her new roommate had packed little: a couple of pairs of jeans; a collection of dark shirts. She shoved a pair of ice skates into the bottom of her closet, hoping that Rosalind wouldn’t see. But she did. She pursed her lips, trying to assess the situation in front of her. Rosalind had hoped for someone docile, someone who would let Rosalind call the shots and not get in her way. Melinda seemed exactly the opposite. An unwelcome thrill ran through her. “What classes are you taking?” 

“Politics. International relations.” Melinda pulled a few well-thumbed copies of Stephen King novels out of her duffel bag. “A couple of language classes. I’m hoping to work on my Russian.” 

“Wow. That’s... _impressive.”_ Rosalind pushed up from her neatly made bed and began to circle the room. She kept her dark eyes on Melinda as she eased a small camera bag out of her duffel. “What do you hope to do after graduation?”

Melinda threw a sly grin over her shoulder. “Little too early for that, isn’t it?” She chucked something at Rosalind. “Hey, could you put those on that shelf over there?” 

Her new roommate had thrown her a plastic bag containing what looked like water balloons, silly string, gunpowder caps and a set of bobby pins. Who the hell  _was_  this girl? “I’m taking politics too. Maybe we’ll be in the same class.”

“Maybe.” Melinda glanced at her collection of biographies, at her graduation photograph. Rosalind had the distinct impression she didn’t miss _anything._  “You looking to run for senate, Rosalind?” 

Her ambitions ran to politics, sure. But Rosalind had never dreamt of a life in the spotlight.  “Little too early to know for sure.” 

Melinda flashed her a warm, lazy smile that made her stomach churn. She wasn’t used to people smiling at her like that. Girls were in awe of her, boys were intimidated by her, men wanted to fuck her (she couldn’t count the number of wandering hands belonging to her father’s friends). But Melinda smiled like she liked her, like she _understood_ her. Like she’d already got under Rosalind’s skin. It was an unusual feeling, and Rosalind found she didn’t much care for it.

Her new roommate finished unpacking, placing two frames on the desk beside her bed. One was of a little girl ice skating, her father holding her hand as they slid across the ice. _Ten bucks says that’s Melinda and her father._ The other was clearly Melinda, with her arms wrapped around a boy. He was attractive, with dark hair and an easy smile. He was wearing a Captain America t-shirt of all things.  He looked like the boy next door. She looked like the school rebel. _Quite the couple._

“Cute boyfriend.”

“Huh?” Melinda glanced down at the frame. Her sudden smile was warm, happy; a smile that Rosalind had never seen directed at her by anyone, ever. “That’s Phil. He’s my best friend; we’ve known each other since we were five.” That smile faded. “He’s at Northwestern.”

 “You didn’t want to go to school together?” 

Melinda turned away, burying herself back in the contents of her duffel bag. “Wasn’t an option.”

 _Interesting._ Rosalind filed away the best friend to use at a later date. 

\--

As the afternoon wore on into evening, Rosalind made plans to attend her mother’s old sorority. They were throwing a mixer - ladies only - and she thought it would be an ideal time to network, make new contacts, and establish her position within the campus social scene. She had no intention of pledging at her mother’s old sorority, or any sorority, but she intended to make as many friends as she could. Picking a dress from her closet, Rosalind dressed quickly in the communal bathrooms. Her makeup was light, elegant. She looked as proper as any young lady back on Capitol Hill. 

Stepping back into her dorm room, her new roommate had moved from her position on the bed. She was currently tying up the laces on a pair of Doc Martens, before sliding her leather jacket back over her shoulders. Melinda gave Rosalind an appreciative look, one that had the blood rushing to her skin. “Going out?”

“Sorority mixer. You’re more than welcome to join me.” She already knew the answer but she still tried. She had yet to put her finger on the enduring mystery that was Melinda May. “I could lend you a dress?” 

Melinda tugged her dark hair out from the back of her jacket. “No thanks. I’m going to the campus bar for a drink.” 

Rosalind laughed politely. “You’re eighteen. They won’t serve you.” 

She slid a hand into her jeans pocket, producing a driver’s licence with her face, her name, and a birth date that made her twenty-two. It was good work. The best that Rosalind had ever seen. “I can get you one, if you want. They’re not cheap, but they’re good.” 

Rosalind had always preferred to use her charm to get into bars, to get free drinks. It was a good test of her skills. Although she did appreciate the handiwork. _Another piece to the puzzle._ “I’ll let you know.” 

“Cool. Don’t wait up!” 

Melinda left with a wink, making sure to grab her keys on the way out. Rosalind stood, hands clasped in front of her Laura Ashley dress,  _staring_ at the departing figure of Melinda May. She’d get to the bottom of her. They had all year.  

\--

Rosalind attended the sorority mixer as planned. She’d smiled, said all the right things. Rosalind had oohed and aahed when they’d showed her pictures of her mother’s graduating class. She’d seen those same pictures hanging up in the den ever since she could remember. Mother with her shiny eyes; her single string of pearls. Over the intervening years, her eyes had lost that shine. Rosalind felt for her mother. But she was determined never to become her.  

The dorm room was empty when she got home. She washed, dressed for bed, and curled up under her sheets writing in her journal. During her talks with the sisters, she had collected a great deal of valuable information. She scribbled them down, making note of factoids and secrets that would be more useful now, or could wait a few years before she used them. As her hand began to cramp, Rosalind decided to call it a night. She switched off her bedside light, staring at the empty bed to her left. She wondered what Melinda May was doing now.

_Bang._

Rosalind had fallen asleep. Something had woken her. Peering across the dorm room, she could see the open door. A muffled  _shit_ echoed in the quiet room. _Melinda._ Rosalind blinked once, twice at her alarm clock.  _Three am._ The figure of Melinda May crept across the room. She smelled like expensive scotch and sex. The light under the door, and the dim light coming through the blinds, created a shadowy figure of her roommate. Rosalind watched as she thumbed off her jacket, abandoning it on the chair next to her desk. She heard the zipper of her jeans, and suddenly they were pulled down too. 

Rosalind swallowed, determined she should roll over and go back to sleep. But Melinda pulled her dark t-shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing more than bra and panties. The bra was next to go. Melinda’s nipples were dark, pebbled in their cool room. Her panties were kicked off, joining her jeans in a pile on the floor. She was beautiful,  _sexy,_ and Rosalind felt something coil in the bottom of her stomach. 

Melinda tugged on a pair of boxer shorts, a faded  _Captain America_ t-shirt that Rosalind was sure a boy at Northwestern was missing. She crawled under her sheets and settled herself against the mattress. “’Night Rosalind.”

_Well that certainly made things more interesting._


	6. Cover Story [Philinda]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda attend the wedding of a fellow SHIELD agent.

Normality took on a different meaning when one was an agent of SHIELD. Forty-eight hours ago, for instance, he’d been in an operation in Sydney. Bullets flying; lab equipment shattering: an intense experience that not everyone had escaped from unharmed. Forty-eight hours later, and Phil was now a guest in a beautiful wedding situated by a lake in Vermont. He wore a nice suit; cufflinks and everything. His date, the stunning Melinda May, wore a dress that cut just above her knee. Forty-eight hours ago she’d been in a battle suit kicking a rogue scientist into a patch of drywall.

The difference between normality, and their reality.

“So…” A hand clapped on Phil’s shoulder, and the bride’s brother took the seat beside him. “How do you know Daniel?”

Phil took a sip of his beer; adjusting the glasses he wore as part of his… _cover._ “We went to college together. Melinda, Daniel and I were in the same ‘Intro to Psych’ class first year.”

His head bounced, although Phil doubted the man had actually heard a word he’d said. “That’s cool. So what do you _do_?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Huh.”

Without another word, the brother slid off his chair and re-joined the party. Phil took another sip; trying to act sociable. On a standard undercover operation, alcohol was only used as an absolute necessity. Hard to keep your cover if you can’t even remember your own name. But this was supposed to be a wedding. One of their own had stood at the altar, said his vows. He had promised honesty and fidelity to a woman who had no idea she had just married a spy.

“Hey, you okay?”

Phil blinked once, twice, shaken out of his intent watching of the bride and groom. Melinda took up the seat beside him, reaching for his beer. She took a sip, nose wrinkling, before grabbing the nearest waiter and requesting two fresh ones. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. They look happy, don’t they?” Melinda followed his eye line to the bride and groom. Agent Morgan had been on a two week leave in Mexico City when he’d met – and fallen for – a legal secretary on vacation. Six month courtship and he was down on one knee. “Do you think she knows?”

Melinda shook her head. “Morgan put in the request, but he didn’t get the clearance to tell her. She thinks he sells insurance.”

Phil snorted. Morgan sold insurance. He was a writer. Melinda was a translator for a major corporation. Everything about this wedding was a lie. Half the church was there with a fake name, fake job, fake _life_. The only thing that was real, it seemed, was Morgan’s feelings for his new wife. Phil watched them turn in the middle of the dance floor, eyes only for each other. He’d witnessed Morgan through many emotions, but never _love._  

“But you’re right. They do look happy.”

Phil turned to his partner. She was a vision in a little black dress and long heels, a million miles away from Sydney. Her arms started to pucker in the cold, and Phil tugged off his suit jacket to drape around her shoulders. He was rewarded by Melinda’s head resting against his shoulder, her hand brushing his chest. _Beautiful._ His fingertips toyed with the strands of her hair, before his attention was once again diverted to the bride and groom.

“I don’t know how he can do it. How he can head off to work and tell her he’s got to meet his daily quota, before coming home early to try and wash the blood stains out of his clothes.” Phil sighed, shaking his head. He glanced down at Melinda, resting comfortably against him. She fit like she belonged there. “Do you ever want that?”

She shrugged. “I’d rather be with someone that didn’t mind washing the blood out of my clothes. I don’t see the point of being in a relationship and lying. I’d rather be alone.”

Phil leant over and pressed a kiss to the top of Melinda’s head. He saw her smile. “You’ll never be alone. You’ll always have me.”

After the bride and groom danced once more, Morgan invited Melinda out onto the floor. Phil watched them spin, watched her smile and laugh as Morgan’s foot caught hers. Was that all part of his act? Morgan was precise; well trained in several versions of martial arts. Was ‘Morgan the Husband’ a bad dancer; a man who came home with coffee stains instead of dried blood on his shirt? Phil wanted what they had: someone to come home to, someone to dance with. But Melinda was right. If you were pretending to be someone you weren’t then it wasn’t real. None of it was.

He hoped that maybe, one day, he’d meet someone he could be that honest with.


	7. Three [Phil/Melinda/Rosalind]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD Director Coulson, ATCU Head Price, and CIA Agent May have a little fun on their joint op. Very NSFW.

With a grunt, Phil collapsed back against the mused bed sheets. His body was soaked in sweat, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. It had been some time since he’d had sex…his recovery post New York and then the threat of Hydra had pushed it to the back burner. He’d never thought he’d break his dry spell with two beautiful women and one of the hottest threesomes he’d had to date. 

Beside him, Melinda May was trying to catch her breath. Her hand was resting against her stomach, a knife scar that hadn’t been there the last time they’d been in bed etched into her skin. Rosalind Price rested against Melinda’s thigh, her own body struggling to calm. They were both incredible women. Intelligent, sexy. 

Phil had to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. 

“That was…” Phil didn’t know how to quantify it. His brain wasn’t engaging. “Water. I need water.”

He pulled himself up from the sheets, walking over to the dresser where he had several bottles of water waiting. He took a sip, wetting his lips. After New York, and _especially_ after the Iliad, the last thing he had wanted was to be intimate with someone. The scar still bisected his chest, his robotic hand was still attached to his arm. Though Melinda had licked and nibbled along his scar, and Rosalind’s juices still clung to the gloved fingers of his new hand. 

Grabbing another two bottles, Phil made his way back to bed. Rosalind’s teeth were teasing the inside of Melinda’s thigh; the CIA Agent trying hard not to gasp. He and Melinda had played with handcuffs when they were younger; she’d even used a whip on him before. He wondered what it would be like to play such games with both of them. 

“So, you two lied to me before. You _do_ know each other.”

Rosalind pulled away from Melinda, smirking up at him. “Not so much a lie as…not the whole truth.”

Phil smiled, resting against the sheets beside his two lovers. He lips pressed against the curve of Melinda’s neck, coming to rest just behind her ear. His tongue flickered out, stroking the sensitive skin. “Know any of her other hot spots?”

“Just along her hip with the flat of your tongue. Drives her _wild.”_

Sandwiched between them, Melinda was at their mercy. Usually so stoic, so professional, the CIA Agent began to sigh and even moan at their ministrations. Phil’s tongue sucked at the skin just behind her ear, his fingers trailing down her skin to pinch at her erect nipples. Rosalind was kissing along her hip, her own fingers sliding in between Melinda’s legs. 

Their eyes met over Melinda’s naked body. Together they parted her legs, their hands sliding down to play with her pussy. Phil slid one finger, then another inside of her, rocking his fingers in and out of where his cock had just been. Rosalind circled Melinda’s clit with her thumb, Melinda bucking up every time her nail caught the nerve. 

“ _This isn’t fair_.”

“I think its perfectly fair, Agent May,” Phil said, grinning as he licked and sucked against her throat. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms Price?” 

Rosalind pulled her mouth away from Melinda’s breast to smile. “You’ve been with both of us before, it only seems fair that we get to play with you as a team.”

Melinda growled, unhappy with both their answers. “You forget…you know about me…I know about you too.” They both took a nipple into their mouth. “Rosalind, Phil likes his cock to be nursed. One time, in Mexico City, he coordinated an entire op with his cock in my mouth.” Phil’s teeth grazed her skin. “Phil, Rosalind likes to be a fucked with a strap on. She also likes to watch.”

Both of them stopped what they were doing to stare at Melinda. Phil moved first, reaching behind him for his watch. “Still got nine hours until the morning  briefing. We’ve got time. _But you first.”_

With that covered, Melinda began to relax against their sheets. Phil slid three fingers inside her; her nipple taut against his tongue. They would get very little sleep, but he didn’t care. He had a strap on in his toy box, and he was getting hard at the thought of Rosalind nursing his cock. Of course, Melinda knew a lot more of his turn ons than that. 

Phil silently prayed that their op lasted longer than planned. 


	8. The Voice in my Head [Philinda]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda goes undercover to retrieve the miracle painting assisted by her handler Phil Coulson. [Twist on 2.04 with a spy trope]

The party was in full swing by the time Agent Melinda May chose to arrive. Her recently restored Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the mansion, the driver immediately attending to her door. A single, shapely leg appeared; encased in a pair of black stilettos. Slowly the rest of her emerged. May looked like a vision in a tailored black dress, the clingy fabric cutting across mid-thigh. Her mission was to blend in with the rest of the party until she could slip away and retrieve the painting SHIELD was interested in. A simple retrieval op. Nodding farewell at Agent Mackenzie, May headed for the entrance.

“Wow, _look_ at this place. This is so much fun; aren’t you having fun?”

“ _I’ll give you five hundred dollars right now for a pair of_ flats. _”_

Halfway across the country, safe in a SHIELD facility, Phil Coulson just chuckled. He knew that Agent May _loathed_ undercover, although he couldn’t see why. Dressing up in fabulous clothes, driving expensive cars…it was a world away from his own life. At least he got to experience May’s missions vicariously. All the excitement of being a spy with none of the danger.

Phil watched May’s approach into the party through a hacked security feed and the retinal camera placed in a lens over her eye. As she presented her invitation to the guard on the door, Phil quickly double checked her cover story. She was Heidi Martin, a wealthy local businesswoman who was attending the party in order to forge ties with Gabriel Soto. Recently divorced, well educated, a stunning yacht in Monte Carlo…Phil’s two semesters of creative writing back at college had proved very useful in providing covers for May. They were airtight. They had to be.

“ _Approaching the ballroom now_ ,” May said under her breath. Through the grainy security footage, Phil could see her attempt to smile. “ _Any sign of Soto_?”

“Not yet.” Phil checked the data streams the SHIELD communication agents had hacked into, as well as his clipboard with a printed list of the guards on watch. “We have fifteen armed guards on duty, ranging from upgraded mall cops to ex Special Forces. Soto isn’t taking any chances.”

A waiter passed by, offering May a glass of champagne. She took it with a forced smile, raising it to her lips to cover her next question. “How much fire power are we dealing with?”

Pushing his chair over to the other side of his desk, Phil sifted through the files he’d compiled on all the guards, and the elaborate security system Soto had put in place to protect his vault. “Not sure. Let’s assume very.”

“Do we have video feeds?”

Phil resisted the urge to shake his head. They had May’s retinal camera, the exterior camera overlooking the driveway, and the one in the grand foyer. The rest of Soto’s security system had proved too difficult to access without getting a communications agent on site. But the kids in the lab had taught Phil the neat trick of jumping from cell phone camera to cell phone camera. “I’ve got eyes on you, but not great ones. Thank god the age of privacy is dead.”

“ _We’re spies, Coulson, it’s always been dead.”_ Phil could hear his partner grow frustrated over the mic. “ _You’re an old fashioned guy, aren’t you Coulson?”_

He had a car made in the sixties, vinyl on the shelf, and a love of history. He enjoyed a little old fashion. Especially when it came to spy craft. “You going to show me something new, May?”

“ _Something a little old. I’m going to get our intel_.”

Through the cell phone camera of one of the guests, Phil watched as May grabbed one of the unattached attendees and led him onto the dance floor. His hand immediately touched her hip, guiding her into his body. May’s arm was thrown around his neck, pulling him in close as they danced together. The moment the man dipped her, May’s leg then curling around his, was the moment Phil switched to another cell phone feed. But the couple on the dancefloor had drawn quite a bit of attention, and Phil was suddenly watching his partner be seduced through dance.

Maybe in another life, he could have been the one dancing with May. Instead he was sitting behind a desk in a SHIELD compound, wearing a Captain America t-shirt littered with grilled cheese crumbs. _The life of a desk spy._

The song finally ended, and those dancing turned to clap. Melinda abandoned her dance partner, lifting a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. “ _Seven uniforms in the ballroom. Walkie, sidearm, baton. They won’t be a problem.”_

She’d used the dance as a subtle way to scan the room. Old spy craft at its best. “Impressive. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“ _Dance elective at the Academy_ ,” May offered, taking another sip of champagne. “ _Surprised I still remember the steps_.”

“You were great out there,” Phil swallowed; biting down on the words _I dance a little myself._ He needed to focus on the operation, nothing more _._ “Okay, May, what’s your next move?”

Her retinal camera turned towards the security door where Soto had just emerged. He’d obviously been checking on the ‘miracle painting’ before the grand unveiling later that day. “ _I’m not waiting. We’re going for the painting._ Now _.”_

Phil smirked. “I thought we were supposed to retrieve the painting tonight once the party’s finished? We had our orders, May.”

He could almost see the grin on her face. “ _You know me and orders, Coulson_.”

To Melinda May, orders were advisements; rules were made to be broken. As long as she was the one taking the risk, May was always willing to push boundaries. One of SHIELDs finest specialists, May was worth all the trouble she brought her way. Her last handler, however, hadn’t thought so. That was why Director Fury had assigned him to her. He could work up contingencies; plan out all the angles. Although he had joined SHIELD in the hope of working with his hero, Phil really did enjoy working with May. Never a dull moment.

Phil jumped between cell phone footage as he tracked May across the mansion. She found Soto in a little alcove, and flirted up a storm with him so they could pull a retinal shot. Phil drowned out May’s attempts at seduction as he mapped out their route into the sub level vault where the painting was held. Phil then scribbled down the timings of all the guards on duty. Just as the retinal shot finished rendering, their plan was set.

 “You ready, May?”

After Soto, May had slipped into the bathroom nearest the secure door. In the mirror above the sinks, Phil saw her grin. He liked to think that that was for him. “ _Let’s go_.”

Turning to the replica watch on his wrist, Phil counted out the seconds until Melinda could begin her approach. “Okay, _now._ ”

May left the bathroom, threading her way through the halls. A shattered champagne flute, thrown by May, led the guard away from the vault door. On his end, Phil sprung the electric lock. Although he barely understood the concept behind all this technology, Phil appreciated its usefulness. Together they pushed forward into an alcove that would gain them access to the elevator down to the vault.

Glancing over the cell phone footage, Phil quickly realised he could only count fourteen guards. Before he could warn May, the fifteenth man suddenly came into view. “Melinda!”

His partner delivered a jab to the throat, finishing with a knockout punch that left the man sprawled on the floor. Phil felt his heart pound in his chest, adrenalin kicking in as he watched his partner pick up the guard’s gun. In the six months they had been together, Phil had watched May take out bigger, stronger targets than this. But he still worried over her. Part of it was Fury’s caution when he took the job, _keep her alive._ Part of it was…something else.

“ _You okay, Coulson_?”

“I’m fine.” He sucked in a breath. “Assailant secure?”

“ _He’ll wake up with one hell of a headache. Send me the retinal scan; I don’t know how often the guard was supposed to report in._ ”

Phil relayed the scan of Soto from Melinda’s retinal camera, and she displayed it on her phone for the alarm system. The elevator doors slid open, and Melinda strode inside. It was a few floors down to the sub level basement, and Phil was almost tempted to start humming elevator music to put both he and Melinda at ease. Thankfully they reached the vault quickly, and Phil pulled up the security schematics to help her through.

“Be careful, May, you’re about to encounter laser grids.” Phil squinted at the schematics. “Laser grids, _really?_ I didn’t know people actually had those.”

May snorted. “ _They’re popular with vaults. Let me see what we’ve got_.”

Using her phone, May was able to see the crisscrossing red lines keeping her from her target. Phil gulped as he saw what she saw; suddenly very grateful he was a desk agent and not much more. “I can try and cut the power to the building if you want, but Soto has a backup generator. It might buy you a few seconds.”

“ _I don’t need a contingency, Coulson. I may not be fresh out of the Academy, but I can handle a simple laser grid.”_

Phil suddenly wished that there was a camera in that sub level so he could see the intricate way Melinda moved. He’d seen her fight before, both on video feed and once in person. She had an agile frame, limber movements, and perfect grace. The last few moves – handstands over the laser beams – made Phil feel more than a little nauseous. But she managed to cross over the beams without as much as a slip of a finger. Suddenly they were on the home stretch, heading for the vault.

“Okay, see if you can find the painting whilst I get your extraction ready. It was supposed to be for this evening, but I can adjust it.”

“ _Thank you, Phil._ ”

His fingers paused over the keyboard, realising that this was the first time in six months that May had ever called him by his first name. He paused to allow himself a smile before he double checked the guard’s routes and notified Agent Mackenzie that his presence would be required _much_ earlier than expected. He glanced towards Melinda’s video feed now and again, seeing her walk past countless treasures hidden in Soto’s vault. Eventually she saw the painting. She pulled off the drop cloth, staring at the religious icon on the front. As Melinda checked the back, Phil’s throat caught.

“Is that…is that _alien?_ ”

Melinda faltered too. “ _I-I don’t know_.”

Phil froze as he stared at Melinda’s camera, at the image of some form of alien writing carved into the back. He blinked furiously, hands clenched as he tried to push the images of New York out of his mind. Of the city burning, of the sky falling. Of the pain in his chest as one of those things- “ _Phil? You still with me?”_

“Yeah, I’m here.” He swallowed. “You don’t think it’s-“

“ _I don’t know. But we have to trust the system. Do you have an extraction plan for me?_ ”

“I do. Grab the painting, I’m sending the route to your phone now. Agent Mackenzie is waiting for you out front.”

As Melinda worked on getting herself the hell out of dodge, Phil leant back in his office chair. His eyes slid off the monitor to the single picture he’d brought, of his father and him sitting atop a newly restored Lola. _How far he’d come._ He’d started out as a college professor teaching history in New York; engaged to the charming first chair cellist of the New York City Philharmonic. Then _it_ happened. After rehab, he’d become obsessed with the Avengers; with SHIELD and Captain America. Nick Fury had tracked him down in the university library and offered him a job. He’d lost his fiancée; his love of teaching. He’d been after a fresh start.

At SHIELD, he had it. Working with Melinda was his fresh start.

Checking the security camera footage over the driveway, Phil watched as Agent Mackenzie pulled up in the Rolls and helped hustle Melinda into the back seat. It took the security guards inside thirty seconds to realise the vault had been breached, but by then it was too late. They were already in the clear. Mission complete.

“May, good work out there.” Phil smiled as he began copying security footage and organising his notes for his report. In the Rolls camera, Phil watched as she sagged against the seats. She might hate it, but she was damn good at it. “You know, I _really_ like that dress.”

For the first time in their partnership, he heard Melinda May laugh. Maybe one day, he’d actually get to hear it in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to request any sequels or remixes for any of the stories in this or my other collections at ddagent.tumblr.com!


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